


Lie to me

by ParadiseFalls03



Series: One for sorrow, two for joy [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, Loss, M/M, coping with loss, harry is a sweet thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseFalls03/pseuds/ParadiseFalls03
Summary: So, lie to me.Tell me all your absurd stories and ludicrous secrets.I know that, when I am ready, you will tell me the truth.
Relationships: Harry Potter/George Weasley
Series: One for sorrow, two for joy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554217
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Lie to me

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry again for this “sad-ish” piece.  
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> This is unbeta-ed and english is obviously not my first language 🤓

“Lie to me”, I ask.

You lift your gaze from the chessboard in front of you and scratch your chin, thoughtful. The white queen huffs in annoyance. You haven’t moved her once.

“I think the Chudley Cannons have a fair chance this year”. You say, sending your knight to its death. 

My lips twitch, while I strike. “Checkmate”.

“Looks like I’m winning!” You declare.

You play the part, your excitement almost convincing. Your hand reaches for a pawn. It’s the wrong move. The queen intercepts your wandering fingers and bites down hard, on your pinky. She clearly thinks you are an idiot. This time, I almost smile.

Lies. They look at me, and tell me I am brave. Like I have a choice. They mean well, but I don’t believe them. 

“Lie to me” I demand. 

I found you in the garden. The rain is light, yet your drenched clothes tell me you have been out here for a while. I don’t ask, but when I sit next to you I make sure our shoulders touch. I can feel my arm getting wet but I don’t move, and neither do you. 

“That,” you reply, pointing to a frog sheltering under the rusty pile of chairs by the shed “Is a prince. I kissed him once. Said he wasn’t interested”

This, I don’t believe. I’ve been at the receiving end of your kisses, and it would be an understatement to say one ought to be affected. 

“The Royals have standards, don’t take it personally ”. I say, instead. 

“I don’t. And commoners are better kissers, anyway” you tell me. 

The frog croaks, as if offended, and hops away. You laugh and the rain slides on your lips. 

I proceed to show you how true your assertion really is.

They tell me it will get better. Sometimes I think I want it to be true. Sometimes I am exhausted. It’s not what I need. Because now, in this moment, it just really fucking hurts. I don’t want their lies. 

“Lie to me” I pray. 

My cheeks are wet, my eyes sting. 

You don’t ask, just walk into the room and sit at the end of the bed. 

I can’t see your face, but when you tilt your neck towards the ceiling I can imagine the dreamy expression in your pretty eyes. 

“When I was eight I wanted to be a professional ballerina. I used to sneak out at night and try on Dudley’s tutu”. 

Your voice is levelled. Even when you stand up and pirouette around the room, your expression remains solemn.

I muffle my laugh in the covers. I don’t know what’s more ridiculous: you, dancing on an invisible stage, or the idea of your obnoxious cousin in a frilly skirt. 

You land a particularly impressive jump with a bow, and grin at me. I take your hand and drag you into my sanctuary.  
If, in the fever of the night, I forget to tell you I am falling quite in love with you, it doesn’t make it any less true. 

They say I will be happy again. It’s a lie this, that everyday sounds a little more true. 

“Lie to me”.

“Trelawney was my favourite teacher”.

“Lie to me”.

“Ron received an owl from Witch Weekly. He has been nominated sexiest war hero. I believe they will title the article He is a keeper”.

Lie to me.  
Lie to me.  
Lie to me.

Today is difficult. Some days are better, others are like today. 

I hear a faint rustle coming from the kitchen and soon you appear carrying a tray of biscuits. They are burnt, one of todays failures. You kick your shoes under the sofa and collapse on the armchair in front of mine. 

I don’t say anything and watch as your teeth sink into one the biscuits, inciting an ominous crunch.  
“Those are. . .” You say, with a grimace “truly disgusting”.

I let out a wet chuckle and our eyes meet.

“Tell me the truth” I beg. 

“George” you tell me, and your voice is a soft caress “Fred is dead”.

They won’t say it. They don’t talk about it, just look at me with their eyes full of pity. I don’t need that. 

“He is not coming back, right?”  
I feel silly, asking you. You that have lost so much. 

“No” you say, simply.

I asked you to lie, your silly, funny lies. I’ve asked you, because I knew that for big things, important things, you would never lie to me. And with you, I can handle the truth. 

I hide myself in your arms. You kiss my hair and whisper “I got you”.

And I believe you. 

I believe I can be brave.

I believe it will get better.

I believe I can be happy. 

And when I am not, when I can’t, I know that you got me. 

So, lie to me.  
Tell me all your absurd stories and ludicrous secrets.  
I know that, when I am ready, you will tell me the truth.


End file.
